


Vignettes from Little Buffenden and Beyond

by koalathebear



Category: Poppy Redfern: A Woman of WWII Mystery - Tessa Arlen
Genre: F/M, Gen, Missing Scene, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27876146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: I totally love the Poppy Redfern: A Woman of WWII Mystery series.  You can buy Poppy Redfern and the Midnight Murders and Poppy Redfern and the Fatal Flyershere.
Relationships: Poppy Redfern/Griff O'Neal





	1. Camp Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set towards the end of Poppy Redfern and the Midnight Murders

_Camp Coffee is a mixture of chicory, water, and sugar. It was sold in bottles as a concentrated dark brown liquid, to which one would add a cup of hot milk._

“Well I was hoping I’d find you here,” a familiar transatlantic voice spoke cheerfully as Bess started running in excited circles around the new arrival to the orchard.

Griff's hazel-eyed gaze dropped to my throat where the bruises were still dark and livid. His firm mouth tightened, his eyes darkening with something that looked like anger.

“It’s so much better than it was, Griff,” I told him firmly. “I can speak again for one,” I told him with a jaunty smile and his brows drew together in an angry frown. He reached out a hand and drew me to my feet, his other hand reaching out to touch the skin on my throat gently, his fingertips light and almost caressing. I suddenly found it a little hard to breathe … 

“The monster,” he muttered. “He tried to choke the life out of you.”

“Well, he is after the _Little Buffenden Strangler_ ,” I felt compelled to point out reasonably. Griff’s mouth twitched into an involuntary smile.

“Bested by my heroic Poppy Redfern.”

“ _Your_ heroic Poppy Redfern?” I demanded challengingly, even as I recalled the way Captain Peterson had said: _“No, it’s not Luftwaffe. It’s your girlfriend…”_

Girlfriend.

Since when was I Griff O'Neal's girlfriend?

"Also, I am afraid I didn't do anything. As I've said, it would certainly have been curtains for me were it not for the air raid and Bess!"

Griff frowned. "While I'm happy to be grateful to Bess, I'm not sure I can muster up the ability to be grateful towards the German air force," he said ruefully.

We were partners, having teamed up to attempt to solve the mystery of who had been attacking the women of Little Buffenden. 

Also - we had become friends. I’m not sure either of us had ever articulated that we were more than that.

His hand reached up to touch my dark red hair that was pulled back into a serviceable braid that hung down my back. 

His eyes softened. “This hair of yours. Absolutely superb… it's almost a crime for you to always be hiding it beneath that helmet of yours.” With a visible effort, he pulled himself together and affected a deliberately light tone. “Then again - wouldn’t want to inadvertently signal the Germans during blackout - you being an ARP warden and all,” he teased me, tugging my braid lightly as if he was a mischievous schoolboy.

“How can I help you today, Lieutenant O’Neal?” I asked him, moving out of his reach and smiling inwardly at the look of disappointment on his face. He looked so tall, handsome and effortlessly charming in his American airman’s uniform. I wondered at myself for having the willpower to resist the fierce attraction I felt for him.

He held up a small brown paper bag. “I know that you’re not fully recovered yet to go for a walk with me, so I thought I’d come and keep you company while you … sewed or … darned or whatever it is you do with your grandmother.” 

“She’s not here, she’s gone to Wickham with my grandfather.”

His eyes widened. “You’re here ... alone?” he demanded.

Then he glanced down and stared at Bess apologetically. “Sorry sweetie,” he told her.

“You might as well come in,” I told him walking into the house with him falling into step beside me, Bess running ahead of us in excitement. 

We went into the kitchen and my eyes widened as he drew his gift from the paper bag and held it to my nose so that I could inhale deeply.

“Oh my .. _real_ coffee?” I breathed in disbelief, my eyes widening in pure pleasure.

“I can’t deal with that camp coffee sludge anymore, Poppy Redfern,” he told me with asperity. “Even with the Carnation,” he told me and I laughed at his disgust.

I sat back and watched him bustle around our kitchen. He’d been at home the first time he’d arrived there, but these days, it was almost a second home to him and he knew his way around so I didn’t even offer to help him.

The room filled with the fragrance of real coffee and when he handed me a steaming mug of the delicious brew I closed my eyes and allowed myself to savour the deliciousness of the coffee.

When we finished our coffee, we washed up, standing side by side at the sink, hips touching, elbows bumping and I glanced over at him to see that he was smiling down at me.

“What?” I asked him self-consciously, looking a little puzzled. “Whatever are you looking at?” I demanded.

“I’m looking at my favourite person in the world,” he told me with a smile in his expressive eyes as he took a step towards me.

“Oh,” my mouth rounded into a surprised circle as I backed away nervously, not quite sure how to handle this suddenly flirtatious Griff.

“Please don’t be afraid of me, Poppy,” he told me, suddenly serious as he reached up a hand to touch my cheek lightly.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I told him with asperity. “I’m well capable of taking care of myself and I'll have you know that I know four other judo moves in addition to the one I’ve already used upon you.”

That made him laugh. “I guess that’s when I literally fell for you,” he said in a way that was both teasing and serious at the same time.

The smile that broke across my usually serious face probably made me look foolish but strangely enough - I simply didn't care.


	2. Epilogue the First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set right at the end of Poppy Redfern and the Midnight Murders

“Congratulations to Poppy and a toast to her new job at the Ministry of Information.” We all waved our glasses and drank some particularly delicious wine that had somehow managed to survive the air raid, despite a huge crater in the lane between the lodge and our old farmhouse. 

“Very luckily, I will be able to visit you often in London when I’m up there on duty,” Griff said.

“What sort of duty?” I asked, wondering if it involved Fenella Bradley.

He laughed at me over the rim of his glass. “What is your job at the Ministry of Information about again?”

“I will be an assistant scriptwriter to the Crown Film Unit. The department writes and produces short films about the lives of ordinary people who do remarkable things in wartime.”

“She means propaganda,” said Griff, who knew all about manipulating the public. “Just wait and see: she will be churning out films like Mrs. Miniver before you know it.”

*

After lunch, we stood side by side at the sink washing up together. "Not sure what you meant about doing most of the washing up," Griff notes as he hands me a plate to dry. I can't help comparing how much more capable and efficient he is in the kitchen than poor Sid had been. Sid had ended up wearing most of the sudsy water and cleaning very little.

"It was a joke, Lieutenant O'Neal," I said rolling my eyes. We took turns washing up and drying and today he had automatically stood at the sink with the water and detergent, whereas I had picked up the dishcloth to dry.

"You'll miss me when you're in London," he teased and I didn't respond at first.

"Are you really going to be able to visit me?"I asked him curiously and he nodded.

"Yes - I'll come and see you as much as I can. Little Buffenden won't be the same without you!"

"You'll be entertained playing bridge and chess with my grandfather, no doubt."

"Not quite the same," he told me, staring down at me with, his hazel eyes alight with laughter. 

"The are plenty of girls in the village who will no doubt be more than happy to keep you entertained," I said primly, ignoring Ilona's voice which berated me.

"I'll drive you to London," he offered. My eyes widened. "Really?" 

"Yes, really," he said with a little laugh. "Help you get settled in - I can help you go and find a place to live as well, unless the Ministry is providing you with lodgings?"

"You know - I have absolutely no idea," I confessed. "But I can take the train …"

He snorted his derision at that idea. "I'm not letting you take the train for your epic journey to Londoon, Poppy. We're going on a road trip!"


	3. Not Dancing in Wickham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after Poppy Redfern and the Midnight Murders but before Poppy Redfern and the Fatal Flyers

Griff sat with his fellow officers in the dining room at the Red Lion Hotel—Wickham’s only posh restaurant. A candle was lit in the center of a cloth-covered table adorned by a single red carnation in a stem vase. The lights were low and as usual - a strange and dusky pink.

The band was inexecrable, mangling a barely recognisable Gershwin tune before transitioning into a barely recognisable Rodgers & Hart tune.

Poppy had told him that before the war, the Red Lion had been a pleasant place to have lunch or dinner after a day of shopping in Wickham, but in the last three years it had become the place to go if you were a serviceman looking to, in Griff’s parlance, “live it up,” because it was the only restaurant in town with a dance floor.

Pretty girls danced with servicemen on the dancefloor, clearly not caring that the band wasn't particularly good. You could tell the women who were dating Americans. They were the ones whose legs were sheathed in sheer nylon. 

The other girls would shave their legs and draw a dark line with an eyebrow pencil from the back of the ankle on up past the knee to give the effect of seamed stockings. 

Poppy had always worn ankle socks. He could have given her nylons, but he had always suspected that she would have declined the offer .. and he would have felt somehow a little sordid to offer them to her. She had never appeared to crave nylons, and to be honest - he had always found her slender legs with the ankle socks rather delightful.

He wondered what she was doing in London right now. Selfishly, he hoped she wasn't out dancing … The Poppy he knew was something of a loner, more likely to be out for a long stroll with Bess … or locked up in her flat writing notes or reading intently. He took a swallow of his beer, staring at the amber liquid a little moodily.

Bill Peterson, a massively tall, Nordicly blond man looked at him sympathetically. The man was engaged to be married to Audrey, one of the young women in the town and he was beyond happy. "Heard from Poppy?" he asked and Griff shrugged.

"We've spoken on the phone a few times … " Unsatisfyingly brief conversations. She'd sounded gratifyingly pleased to hear from him, though. Telling him all about the Ministry of Information, Crown Film Unit. 

"Griff darling, how delightful to see you here," a voice drawled and Griff turned his head and smiled politely at the young woman who approached him. With her perfect porcelain-white complexion, almost blue-black hair, voluptuous bosom, tiny waist, and rounded hips Fenella Bradley knew that she was stunning and enjoyed the attention she garnered as she sauntered up to his side.

"Good evening, Fenella," he said politely.

She smiled. Her lipstick, a deep, dramatic red, emphasised the curve of her sensuous mouth and her mascaraed blue eyes studied him closely. He couldn't help comparing her to Poppy. Poppy with her rich, dark red hair … her pale, delicate skin which had a natural flush of colour. From the time he'd met her, she'd never worn lipstick, her full mouth unpainted and her full, pale pink mouth was always kissable and naked of cosmetics. He'd never asked her why she didn't wear cosmetics - had no idea if it was because her grandmother disapproved or whether it was simply that Poppy herself had no desire to paint her face.

"Why aren't you dancing Griff instead of sitting here like a sad, pining bore?" she asked him flirtatiously. "You can't refuse to dance until Poppy returns," she said provocatively.

"Just enjoying a meal and a drink, Fenella. I'll pass on the dancing tonight - I'm sure you'll have no shortage of partners," he told her gallantly but she was dissatisfied with the flattery.

She rested a hand on his arm in a familiar fashion. "Why not let me entertain you while Pops is away, Griff," she told him in a low, teasing voice. Her red-tipped fingertips trailed over the fabric of his uniform. "I love Poppy - she's a darling girl … but she's always been terribly starchy and a little bit of a bore … certainly doesn't have what it takes to look after someone as sophisticated as you."

Griff's jaw tightened but he managed a smile. "I'm hoping to visit Poppy soon during my next leave. She's the best thing that's happened to me since coming to England - and that's saying something given how much I enjoy being here," he said in his cheerful manner.

The band began to play 'Let's call the whole thing off' and he couldn't help remembering that that song had been playing the last time he had come here with Poppy. The two had danced the night away - Poppy explaining that even though she'd learned very little of value at her exclusive boarding school, she had learned to dance and he had enjoyed the feel of her in his arms, the way her eyes gazed up into his as they pretended that the music was wonderful and that no one else in the world existed except the two of them.

Fenella's eyes darkened slightly and her full mouth tightened but she made herself smile, a smile that didn't quite reach her blue eyes. 

"How quaintly romantic," she said mockingly. She shrugged. "I fear you're doomed for disappointment if you think sweet, innocent Poppy is going to be able to satisfy your … appetites …" her voice dropped low. She gave a purring laugh. "You know where to find me if you change your mind, lieutenant…" walking away from him, her hips swaying seductively and he found himself comparing her walk unfavourably to Poppy's brisk, no-nonsense stride, her affected drawl to Poppy's expressive voice… 

He knew his friends thought he was mad, turning down the likes of Fenella Bradley when she was clearly willing to dally with him… Griff had never been a player. He'd been attracted to and liked Poppy Redfern the moment he'd met her. 

"I'm off," he told his friends who nodded understandingly. Instead of spending the evening with Fenella Bradley, he decided instead to head to Poppy's house, to play chess with Jasper Redfern, the commanding officer of the Little Buffenden and Lower Netherton Home Guard - and Poppy's grandfather.


	4. My Young Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene set at the end and after Poppy Redfern and Fatal Flyers. It almost became PG-13 but I stopped myself ...

Griff had been absolutely horrified at the realisation that while he had been flying the Spitfire, June had hit me in the face. Although she had certainly been on our list of suspects, we simply hadn't anticipated that the seemingly cheerful Australian would lose her control to such a degree before others.

Griff had lifted his fingertips to my face, stroking my cheek with tenderness as he had smoothed my hair out of my eyes. My earlier energy and determination had drained out of me, the side of my face had throbbed and my legs were shaking. The vision in my right eye had been obscured by my fatly swelling cheek and jaw. 

Putting his his hand under my chin, he had muttered, “Oh Lor’,” as he had examined my face in the last rays of the sunset. “Teeth okay?” I had nodded. “Going to be a bit of a bruise there.” He had gently felt along the side of my jaw and then pulled me close to him. “Damn,” he had said remorsefully, resting my good cheek against his shirt and swaying slowly from side to side with his arms tight about me. “I would have given anything to have been down here when you first spilled the beans, anything.” 

I had felt his warm breath and then his lips on the top of my head, as he had pressed light kisses. I had buried my nose in the warmth of his jacket and his arms had closed more tightly around me. “And miss out on throwing that Spitfire around?” I had asked, listening to his strong, steady heartbeat quicken a fraction. There had been a deep sigh. “Well, it was wonderful, of course; maybe just a tad bit faster than my old Mustang.”

A voice at my elbow had whispered, “You would think, my dear Poppy, that he was born to fly. Just like my Aleksy.” And right on cue I had heard Ilona’s light laugh. _Watch out, darling. Keep your sweetheart away from that woman, whatever you do._ I had smiled and buried my nose more deeply in Griff’s shoulder, feeling safe and comfortable.

*

"Finally ready to head back to London, Poppy?" Griff asked me and I tilted my head back and looked up at him, smiling faintly.

"More than ready," I told him bluntly. "I don't think I ever want to come back to Didcote again."

"I don't blame you," he told me. "Are you ok to walk back to the car or do you want me to carry you?"

The look of scorn I gave him made him laugh and he contented himself with tucking my arm through his and walking with me to the red Alvis.

He drove back to the Fisherman's Lodge where Mrs Evans exclaimed over my bruised swollen face with horror. "You sure you wouldn't like some ice .. or some ointment, dear?" she asked.

"I'll be all right," I assured her. "We're going back to London now and I'll rest up once I'm back at my flat."

"I am sure your young man will look after you," she said, looking at Griff.

"Oh but …" I started to say but trailed away as Griff nodded at her smilingly.

"She will receive nothing but the best of care," he assured her warmly. He carried my bag and Bess to the Alvis. "I'm driving," he told me firmly. "You're in no state to drive - you can rest on the trip." I didn't try to argue with him. Much as I loved driving his sleek car - I was exhausted, sore and drained and I had no desire to land us all in a ditch because of my exhaustion.

*

I blinked into the darkness. Staring around, I realised I was lying in my bed and in my bedroom … dressed in my nightie. There was a cool cloth on my swollen face. I had a vague recollection of Griff putting it there… as he had sat on the edge of my bed until I had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

I turned my head, careful not to bump my swollen face which was throbbing with pain. Sleeping on the floor of my bedroom in a sleeping bag was Griff O'Neal - a snoring Bess curled up beside him.

"Griff - why on earth are you on the floor?" I demanded. There was a perfectly good sofa in the small sitting room of my tiny flat at 122 Elms Road. On second thought, it was possibly too small for someone of Griff's height.

He woke up and stared up at me through the darkness. "I wanted to be close at hand in case you needed anything," he told me. "Are you all right?" he asked in concern.

"Yes, I think so," I told him. "Please don't lie on the floor," I told him contritely. "It's horribly uncomfortable. There's room on the bed for the both of us."

He became very still.

 _Well, well, well …_ Ilona drawled in mock astonishment.

"Be quiet," I muttered beneath my breath. "I'm offering him a comfortable place to sleep not, sex. The weekend has clearly corrupted you."

"What did you say?" Griff asked, blinking at me in confusion.

"Oh … nothing," I told him. I shifted over and gestured to the space I had made for him on the bed. He hesitated for a moment before sliding out of his sleeping bag, careful not to disturb Bess who continued to snore quietly.

"I honestly don't mind sleeping on the floor, Poppy," he told me quietly. "I've slept on far worse."

"Well there's no need to sleep on the floor," I told him. "The bed isn't huge, but it's large enough for the both of us."

Very cautiously, he approached the bed and I could see him debating whether to lie on top of the quilted duvet - or beneath it. I made the choice for the both of us and lifted the duvet up in silent invitation and permission. He stood there, tall and handsome in his striped blue pyjamas and dark tousled hair. 

Shrugging, he slid into the bed beside me. "You do know that your grandfather will shoot me if he ever finds out I've shared a bed with you, "he told me ruefully as he turned onto his side and studied my face. "And he owns a gun. Several."

I laughed and then winced because laughing brought back stabbing pains into my face. "Your face is looking even more bruised and swollen now," he told me. "We probably should have put ice on it sooner…"

"Will I have a black eye?" I asked him apprehensively.

"Black jaw and cheek is more likely," he told me ruefully, his hazel eyes warm and caring. There was a gap between us in the bed but barely. I could feel the length of his long, lean body stretched out beside me in the bed. I'd never slept 'with' another person before. Even at boarding school, we'd had our own beds and I'd never been chummy enough with the other girls to have sleepovers that might have entailed sharing a bed.

"Thank you for all your help this weekend, Griff," I told him hesitantly. "You did so much for me."

"Ditto," he told her. "You broke open my investigation for me," he told me cheerfully. "Command is very happy with all the information we were able to uncover on the fuel theft."

"What about the black market sausages?" I teased him.

He smiled. "I haven't been asked to shift my focus yet. Petrol today - sausages tomorrow!" he told me, reaching out impulsively to cup my face gentle in his strong hand. "We work well together - even though you keep trying to send me away on side missions."

"Maximising limited resources," I told him coolly. 

"Yes, but I like working alongside you, Poppy," he told me bluntly, his expression unguarded and almost vulnerable. "I know you've only been in London for four weeks … fortunately we've been so busy," he told me (his phrase for flying missions),"That I haven't missed you as much I could have …. but I've sure missed you a hell of a lot nonetheless."

I flushed. Not wanting to tell him that I had also missed him desperately. Missed our long companionable walks. Missed our Sunday morning roast and the almost intimate solitude of standing side by side in my grandparents' kitchen washing up after lunch. Most men of my acquaintance didn't help out with housework so it was a strange and novel experience to have a tall American serviceman washing dishes and drying dishes with me as if we had always done such things.

It was domestic, mundane … and it was also strangely romantic.

"Dear lord, you're a tragic case," Ilona drawled mockingly.

"What are you thinking about?" Griff asked me abruptly.

"What?" I asked, blinking.

"Sometimes it's like you drift out away and have a different conversation with someone else," Griff remarked. "I don't mind," he said hastily. "I'm just wondering what you're thinking about."

So I told him about Ilona, who has been my imaginary friend since I was very young. How she was always the one who dared me to be naughty. My confidante throughout my years at Haldean. How during the classes I disliked the most—algebra, geometry, and math—I would sit silently at my desk, with a “listening” face, as Ilona and I escaped into a world of fantasy adventures. 

He smiled as he listened. "And then you made her the heroine of your book."

"Yes," I told him. I tell him how smart, confident and beautiful she is - the person I have always wished i could be.

"Well - now that you know, are you going to laugh at me?" I ask him and he shakes his head. 

"I think everyone has different ways of processing things … coping with different situations and issues." He gives me a crooked smile.

"What would Ilona think you should do about … this," he asked me mischievously, indicating our sleeping situation.

"She's shameless. She'd have already had her way with you," I told him without thinking and then felt my cheeks turn hot with embarrassment.

Griff gave a short laugh and brushed hair from my face. "Well that wouldn't have worked," he told me. 

"Oh?"

"I would have had to tell the lovely, bold Miss Ilona Linthwaite very politely that my heart very much belongs to another and regardless of how charming she is …"

"Ah but this is wartime," I teased him. "And you were the one who said that during war, men and women do strange things." We'd seen first hand during our visit to Didcote the infidelities … the challenges that war time could inflict upon relationships.

"Not me," he told me seriously. "The men in my family are faithful … once we give our heart to someone - that's it. There's no one else."

It suddenly became a little hard to breathe and the heat in my cheeks only intensified.

"Well that's very fortunate for … Fenella Bradley," I told him and he choked with incredulous laughter.

"Fenella Bradley? That's … unexpected." He looked amused and bemused. "You know we were working together, right? The relationship entirely professional."

"Are you trying to tell me she didn't try to make it anything more?" I queried archly and he rolled his eyes.

"And as you already know - a degree of mutual feeling is required and there were none on my part."

"You were attracted to Edwina - before you discovered that she was a maneater," I pointed out and he shook his head emphatically.

"For crying out loud, Poppy. For one of the smartest girls I know - you come to be some pretty strange conclusions sometimes!"

"That first night we arrived at the base - you were glued to her side."

"You made it clear you wanted to work. I had to keep myself occupied," he pointed out unanswerably and I opened my mouth to retort and then closed it again, realising that I didn't actually have a sensible rejoinder.

He let a fingertip trace along the unbruised portion of my cheek. "Do you know how refreshing it is to actually see a girl's real face?" 

I blinked.

"These days … girls seem to cover their faces with so much powder … " he touched the skin of my cheek and forehead lightly. "It's amazing to be able to see the actual colour of your face … " his fingertip touched my swollen lip with almost heart-breaking gentleness, taking great care not to hurt me. "And your mouth … the thought that if I kissed you .. I could kiss your actual mouth without getting covered in lipstick …"

The breath caught in my lungs and I stared at him wide-eyed and shocked. "Can't kiss you right now because you're so battered and bruised and don't want to hurt you," he said regretfully … "But I can still do this …" he told me and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead … to an unbruised section of my cheek … an unbruised part of my jaw … I closed my eyes and he kissed one eyelid lightly and then the other.

Then he lifted my hand and kissed it whimsically. 

"Griff," I breathed and he pressed my hand against his chest where I felt the strong, steady beat of his heart. I moved his hand so that he could press it against my chest, where through the thick, maiden-aunt flannel of my nightie he could probably feel _my_ heart racing like a jackhammer.

His fingertip crept through a gap in the buttons of my nightie to touch the warm skin beneath. His pupils dilated and his breathing a little shallow. My fingers tangled in his thick dark hair, revelling in the fact that he was here in my bed.

"You're sore and bruised .. I can't kiss you properly … I want to be able to touch you .. everywhere … kiss you .. everywhere …" I turned scarlet at the thought. "And maybe one day you'll do the same to me," he teased. "But not when you're like this .." he said touching my swollen jaw and lip with a feather-light caress.

"One day," I whispered.

"One day," he confirmed and it was a promise.


End file.
